Traders Wild
by keslei
Summary: Space AU - So far as Dean remembers, he's always been a Trader, moving from world to world, with no real purpose to his life. But sometimes it feels like he's missing something, like he should be living a different life, if only he could remember what it was. And when Dean winds up in the middle of a trade dispute, working alongside a telepath, his lost memories start to return.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Written for the 2013 SPN Reverse Bang. My artist was glasslogic - her gorgeous art prompt and related banners and icons can be found at glasslogic **. **livejournal **. **com/43624 **. **html

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><p>From the moment the hatch unsealed, I could hear the tourists yammering, bustling around the spaceport while exclaiming over the angular beauty of the mountains on the horizon or the strangeness of a world with two suns. I didn't even glance up from the tarmac, because I'd seen it all before. Two suns or three, mountains or jungles or ice planets, worlds orbiting other larger worlds - you name it, I've seen it. To the tourists, this was something new and exciting, something strange and beautiful (and the locals were happy to keep them thinking that way). But to me, it was just another planet, another world on the long list of places I'd been, a list that would keep growing for as long as I was alive. And that would be a while.<p>

You see, I'm a Trader, and we live longer and travel farther than anyone else in the galaxy. Some say we're lucky, blessed, even, to see generations pass us by, to be born in the sky between worlds, to live our lives there, and finally die there too, out in the vastness of space.

Me, I don't see what they see in it.

From birth to death, we live our lives in tin cans, surrounded by an infinite nothingness and constantly reminded of our own insignificance, watching the worlds from a distance - a people out of time, a people without a home. Doesn't sound so grand an existence now, does it?

And as for me, well… I don't even fit in with my own people. Legend says that every Trader has someone born to be their soulmate - their One - but I haven't found mine yet, and after a hundred and some odd years, well, I've kinda given up on it ever happening. After a while, you get used to being the odd one out while everyone else you know pairs off. And that's perfectly alright with me, 'cause I wouldn't wanna be stuck with them anyway.

Other people tend to get in my way, so I'd really rather work alone. My Overseer, Cas, says that shows some serious psychological problems - I think his exact words were something along the lines of, "Dean refuses to communicate with or accept assistance from others, and should be considered a high-risk individual." This from a guy whose job entails sitting on his ass all day, handing out assignments because he can't cut it on the ground…

He keeps sending me out on jobs, though, the ones no one else wants because they're too dangerous or have a high potential for something to go wrong, because even though my psych profile may have some issues, I always get the job done. No matter what, any means necessary. And I work best alone.

I sometimes hear the other Traders whispering when they think I can't hear, calling me deranged, insane, a disgrace to the Traders. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am crazy. But I can negotiate with rebel groups and outland gangs and set up profitable deals in the middle of warzones, so that will have to be good enough.

It's good enough for Cas, at least, and I try keep my mind on the job at hand, so it works for me, too.

And this job was a big one - high stakes involved, and a huge potential payout if I picked the winning side.

Gordon Trade and the Interplanetary Shipping Corporation had been fighting each other for control of the Nissul Corridor for decades now - a quiet war waged through sabotage and corporate espionage, with neither side ever quite managing to achieve economic dominance. But according to the Traders' data, both sides were within reach of victory, if the other side could just be manipulated into a very few key decisions. If we played our cards right, getting them to bid against each other for our esteemed services, we could come out a whole lot wealthier than we started, without ever investing a cent - we call that good business.

But after the first two Traders sent in came back without their heads, Cas decided my particular skill set was going to be necessary for a successful conclusion to this deal. Sometimes I wonder if he isn't just trying to get me killed so he can be assigned to a new agent, but I love the danger so I don't complain.

After all, when I'm walking a knife edge with torture on one side and beheading on the other, I don't have time to think morbid semi-philosophical thoughts about how empty my life is or how I've never quite fit with anyone, Trader or human. Danger is good - danger keeps me out of my own head and focused on the job. And this job looked to be right up my alley.

So I was docked on Garrula, a little planet whose only claim to fame was its spectacular scenery, waiting to hear back from my ISC contact, and on my way to meet my inside man from Gordon Trade and set up a more private meeting with his superiors. I kept an eye out for any sort of a tail as I left the spaceport, and I wasn't surprised to pick two of them out of the crowd before I'd gone more than a few blocks.

One was doing a particularly bad job of tailing me, staying too close and wearing very distinctively patterned clothes. I figured he was the one I was supposed to see, so that when I lost him I wouldn't look for another. The other guy was much more discreet, but when he lingered a little too long outside a bar while I ducked in for a drink, the game was up for him as well. Apparently the ISC wasn't paying enough for proper espionage skills.

Two minutes later I'd lost both tails. The little touristy shops were perfect for dodging them - in the front door, weave between the racks, then vanish out the back door and into the crowd while they were still trying to figure out whether to come in after me or not. I might not be much of a people person, but mobs of tourists can be really handy when you need to disappear.

I kept checking over my shoulder occasionally as I followed my nav-tech to the spot my Gordon Trade contact had chosen for the meet, but no one else suspicious caught my attention. That didn't mean that I completely let my guard down, of course - I still took a couple extra detours, then looped around the block once before I headed into the rundown little cafe where my nav-tech had sent me.

Pushing open the door, I could tell right away why he'd chosen this place - low lighting, high partitions between the booths, a moderate number of customers, and two alternate exit points. If you wanted to get in, do whatever you'd come for, and then get out without being ID'ed, this place was perfect. I was suitably impressed with my contact's choice of meet locales - I'd only worked with him once before, but he'd just upped my opinion of his usefulness.

He was waiting for me in the booth closest to the back door, his cap brim pulled down low, making it impossible to get a good look at his face. I'd pulled up my hood while coming in, and with the low lighting, neither of us would really be able to ID the other afterward. There were already two cups of coffee and a nearly polished-off sandwich on the table - he'd gone ahead and made sure this would look like a normal lunch meeting - so I got right down to business.

"I need you to set up a meeting with your supervisors. I have information on how to devastate the ISC's ability to do trade along the Nissul Corridor, and I'm willing to work with Gordon Trade to make it happen."

"Provided the price is right, of course."

I didn't reply - he already knew more than enough to take this to his superiors, and he was nowhere near being important enough to negotiate payment amounts.

"Alright, I'll see what can be done. If you can actually do what you claim, they should be very interested in your offer. Give me twelve hours to make arrangements, and then you'll be contacted with the location for the meeting."

I nodded once, and he stood up, then downed the rest of his coffee before ducking out the back door. It wasn't until the door had shut behind him that I realized he'd stuck me with the check. That was one expensive sandwich, too.

* * *

><p>After leaving the restaurant, my next move was to check into one of the many seedy motels in town. It wasn't the Ritz, that was for sure, but it was far from the worst place I'd stayed. No bed bugs is always a plus, and if you're looking for someplace where you can pay in creds up front and not give your name, you can't be too picky.<p>

I flipped the vid-screen on first thing, and dropped onto the musty bed to scroll through channels. Hopefully, I'd been able to set the wheels turning at Gordon Trade, and if I was lucky, my guy at the ISC would contact me in the next few hours as well. Best thing I could hope for would be to go into this next level of negotiations with both sides making bids for my expertise, driving up the price and my eventual payout.

In fact, I was feeling pretty good about this whole job, right up until the moment where I changed to a news channel and saw the breaking news bulletin - "Interplanetary Shipping Corporation CEO Found Dead in Hotel Room." Yeah, that wasn't good news.

And it only got worse as I listened to the newscaster - stock prices plummeting, the company trying desperately to rearrange its senior management and reassure the public that everything would continue as per usual. Not exactly the best environment for conducting sensitive negotiations.

The news kept on going downhill from there, too. Turns out the ISC was involved in some major government contracts, which meant the investigation of their CEO's sudden demise would fall under the jurisdiction of the Coalition itself. That's right - the government whose reach spanned galaxies would be poking around inside the company, while I tried to nail down a deal that fell distinctly outside the realm of legal action. Sounds like fun, yeah?

Then, just when I thought this whole mess couldn't possibly get any worse, the universe proved that it's always got one more twist to throw at you. Want to know where the CEO was vacationing at the time of his unfortunate demise? You guessed it - Garrula. Of course.

My luck officially sucked - first the check, now this.

I thought for a second about getting the hell outta Dodge right that moment, but if they did connect my inside guy to me, fleeing the scene of the crime would probably be enough to make me at least a person of interest. Looked like I was going to be sticking around for a bit, and, with any luck, going unnoticed 'til things had died down.


	2. Chapter 2

I was woken bright and early the next morning by someone pounding on the crappy motel room door. Groaning, I rolled over and glanced at the clock. 6:58 AM. Wonderful. I could tell already that this wasn't going to be good.

And it got worse.

"Coalition agent, Mr. Winchester - open up!"

They had my real name. Shit. So much for lying low.

"Just a moment, please…"

I scrambled for some pants, hauling them on as I moved to the door. Then, squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I pulled it open.

The agent standing outside pushed past me immediately, striding into the room.

Yeah, great, come on in, make yourself at home… Seriously, I think they require these guys to be douchebags. Still, he had a gun, and the full weight of the Coalition to back him up, so I kept it civil.

"Can I help you with something?"

He didn't answer right away, just turned and stared at me intently. It was a little creepy, actually, but I stared right back, taking the opportunity to size him up.

Tall, longish hair, focused gaze, looked like he could hold his own in a fight. Maybe I could take him, but I wasn't sure, and unless he tried to arrest me or take me in for questioning, it wasn't worth finding out.

"Trust me, you'd lose. And douchebag? That's not very nice."

Wait a second… I hadn't said any of that out loud…

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a half-smile.

"Now you're getting it."

"You're a telepath."

I was so screwed.

There wasn't anything I could do about it at this point, though, so I kept my poker face on and tried not to think about anything that could get me into more trouble than I was probably already in. Of course the first things that popped into my head were all the borderline-illegal deals I'd worked recently - someone tells you to not think about an elephant, that's the first thing that comes to mind…

He didn't pursue any of those thoughts, though. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Let me start by properly introducing myself - I'm Samuel Wesson. You already know whom I work for, but don't worry. I'm not here to arrest you."

That wasn't reassuring. I knew full well the Coalition wouldn't have wasted any agent's time, much less a telepath's, unless they wanted something. And whatever they wanted, I already knew I wasn't going to like it.

"We'd like to ask for your help in investigating the death of the CEO of the Interplanetary Shipping Corporation."

Yeah, I didn't like it. It's not good for under-the-table negotiations when you're suddenly seen looking into the company's affairs on a very official basis, and if I took this on, I could kiss any chance of completing my original job goodbye. On the other hand, I doubted I had a choice.

"And if I say no?"

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I wouldn't do that. You're currently a free man because we feel that your connections inside the ISC and Gordon Trade could be useful in resolving both this investigation and the ongoing trade dispute. If my superiors come to feel otherwise, that could change very quickly."

As I expected - no real choice.

"You have a deal, then. Where do we start?"

He rose from his chair and straightened his suit.

"I want to talk to the staff at the hotel where the body was found. You'll need to get dressed, I think. Unless you prefer to conduct interviews in your sweatpants."

As he moved out into the motel parking lot, I decided that it could have gone worse. It was far from ideal, but I wasn't on my way to a jail cell, and Agent Samuel Wesson wasn't as much of a dick as I'd been expecting. Not the partner I'd choose, but at least he had a little bit of a sense of humor. There was just that pesky problem of him reading my mind.

We were definitely going to have to set some boundaries there if this was going to end well for me.

* * *

><p>Agent Wesson was lounging against the railing when I made it out the door, thumbing through something on his comm screen. I was mildly surprised to see a taxi cab waiting – I'd thought Coalition agents were above using public transportation, but apparently that assumption was incorrect. It wasn't even a particularly clean taxi either, and I really hoped that Wesson would be paying the fare, since transportation on Garrula was always grossly over-priced.<p>

After he rattled off our destination to the driver, I decided that now was as good a time as any to see if I could negotiate some sort of partnership that included him leaving my thoughts alone. And since beating around the bush has never been one of my strong suits, I jumped straight to the point.

"Since you already know just how pleased I am to be working with you, I'm gonna come right out and tell you that the only way that this is gonna work is if you stay out of what I'm thinking."

Shifting in his seat, he fixed me with a stern gaze, and started to say something about how I really wasn't in a position to negotiate. I cut him off before he could really get going though.

"Slow down, Wesson – I'm in for this assignment. I'm not threatening to back out. Not a huge fan of jail time here. But if you want me to be useful, then I need to be able to focus on doing the job, which is not gonna happen if I'm spending all my time making sure I'm not thinking something that might incriminate me. So this – you and I working together to get to the bottom of things – only works if I know you're not in my head, ever."

He actually looked slightly impressed – probably was more used to being the one giving the ultimatum, rather than the one getting told off. I could tell he was thinking through what I'd said, and after a few seconds he nodded slowly.

"Alright. You have my word; I'll stay out of your head. Is that sufficient?"

I shrugged.

"Guess it'll have to be, huh? I'm not the one with the built-in lie detector."

A slightly hurt look crossed his face, and I figured I'd impugned his honor or something by insinuating that he might not be trustworthy. And maybe he could be trusted – my gut said he was sincere – but I wasn't gonna leap without a lot of looking first.

But even though I'd just taken a jab at his honor, he didn't react like any other Coalition agent I'd come across (or run from). Instead, as he turned back to gaze out his own window, he spoke quietly.

"Since we're partners at the moment, Mr. Winchester, and I'm going to be trusting you, you can call me Sam."

I felt a little guilty then – he seemed to actually be a decent guy, and I hadn't exactly extended him the same trust I'd requested for myself. And even though a partner was just about the last thing on my Christmas list, especially one forced on me by the government, we were both stuck with each other for the time being, so I grudgingly offered my own tiny olive branch.

"'Mr. Winchester' has me looking over my shoulder for my boss or the cops – I'm Dean."

And even though his hair hid most of his face from view, I was pretty sure he smiled.

"Dean. Alright then."

* * *

><p>The rest of the trip through the crowded streets of Garrula passed in silence, as I stared out the window at the blur of faces passing by and wished I knew more about the man sitting across from me. At first, I'd assumed he was nothing more than your stereotypical Coalition agent – arrogant and more than happy to resort to force to get the job done – but even though he'd basically strong-armed me into taking this assignment, my gut said there was more to him than that. And between his promise to stay out of my head (which I actually believed, for the most part), and his willingness to be on a first-name basis with me (which I was quite surprised by – he seemed to be treating me like an equal now that we were both on this investigation, something I'd never expected), my current conclusion was that this Agent Wesson – <em>Sam<em> – might actually be an alright guy.

When we got to the hotel, we were greeted by the manager, who looked rather shaken up by the dead body in his most expensive suite. I was pretty sure he was more concerned with the impact this would have on his pocketbook than anything else, and when he left to call together the hotel staff, I heard Sam mutter under his breath.

"Doesn't care that a man died, just cares that no one's going to want to stay in that suite again…"

I wasn't surprised that he'd noticed the manager's motivation (after all, he probably just read the guy's mind), but it was a pleasant surprise to realize that the manager's greedy outlook had bothered him. Mark one more thing down in the category of 'generally decent guy' – hell, at this rate he'd turn out to be a more decent guy than me.

Apparently, I'd zoned out while pondering Sam Wesson's better qualities though, because he was staring at me quizzically now, waiting for an answer to a question I'd completely missed.

"Uh, sorry… Can you say that again?"

"I was wondering how you wanted to approach this – someone needs to talk to the hotel staff who were on duty yesterday, and someone needs to check the security records from around the time of death."

After a moment of quick thought (and tiny bit of appreciation that he was deferring to my lead here), the answer seemed pretty obvious to me.

"How about you take the staff, since you have the official government badge and the telepathic thing? I've got some experience with security systems," or at least with methods for getting around them, "so that's probably best."

* * *

><p>Several hours later, we finally finished up everything at the hotel, and since the ME had just forwarded over his report on the corpse – fifty pages of grisly photos and medical jargon – we decided to grab some takeout and spend the afternoon pouring over the information we now had.<p>

Sam claimed the job of going through all the witness statements again to see if any details stood out as noteworthy upon second inspection, and I was more than happy to let him take that one. The ME's report might not be the best dinner reading, but at least it was organized and coherent. And I'd seen enough dead bodies in my time that one more didn't bother me much.

The afternoon dragged slowly by, and I was about forty pages into the report when one of the details that the ME had briefly mentioned caught my eye. I scrolled back a few pages to the image he referred to, and sure enough, there was the tell-tale patch of mottled, scaly skin – the only sign of the true cause of death, and the ME had completely missed its significance.

I was pretty convinced my conclusion was right, but a second set of eyes never hurt.

"Hey, Sammy, come take a look at this."

I scrolled back to the beginning of that section, then glanced up when he spoke.

"You called me 'Sammy.' No one's ever called me that before."

From the look on his face, this was distinctly more disturbing to him that it was to me, so I figured maybe he'd been offended or something.

"Sorry 'bout that - it just sorta came out naturally."

Which actually was weird, now that I stopped to think about it. I didn't usually get chummy with, well, anyone, but especially not Coalition agents I'd known for less than twenty-four hours. It was downright unprofessional, and I was a bit embarrassed.

"Don't worry, I can promise it won't happen again…"

But he stopped me there, meeting my eyes with his lost-puppy gaze.

"It's okay. I liked it. It felt… well… _right_, somehow. Familiar..."

And while I really wanted to just move on and forget the whole thing, I had to admit that he'd hit on something there. It had felt familiar, the name rolling off my tongue like I'd called him that a thousand times before. Which was way more weirdness than I was prepared to handle, thank you very much, so I grunted in his general direction for an answer and turned back to the screen.

"So, if you're done being all sentimental over there, want to take a look at what I've found?"

"Sure."

Unfolding his lanky frame from the chair, he moved 'round the table, leaning down to peer over my shoulder at the screen. He was totally invading my personal space, but for once, I didn't care.

"You see here, where the medical examiner noted an odd scaly patch of skin on his arm? He wrote it off as a skin condition, but take a look at the images he took."

I flipped over to the image app, and after a couple seconds I heard him inhale sharply.

"Dean… He was poisoned."

The kid was sharp, and also obviously well-trained - this particular poison was rarely used, and wasn't even on the common tox-screens, so for him to ID it within seconds from an image… Well, let's just say that I was suitably impressed.

"Raises the stakes a bit, doesn't it?"

He took a step back, then sank down onto the bed.

"You think Gordon Trade had him assassinated."

It wasn't a question - we both knew that was really the only explanation that made any sense. And if Gordon had escalated to murder, then this trade dispute was on the verge of becoming an all-out war.

We didn't really have the info we needed to start a full-scale investigation yet, though, so I rang up Ash and left a message asking him to meet me in the morning, and then we sat down to throw together a list of the most likely suspects. With a little bit of digging into Gordon's financials, Sam came up with eleven guys whose bank accounts showed suspicious activity, while I called in some favors and got the names of fifteen or so black-market dealers who might have had access to the poison. It wasn't as short a list as I would have liked, but it gave us a good place to start come morning.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't a restful night. I spent most of it staring at the ceiling as my brain played out all the nasty ways this could end, and trust me, there were plenty of options.

When Sam knocked on my door, it was pretty obvious that he'd had just as bad a night. We made a great pair of detectives - bleary eyed and yawning, chugging caffeine for dear life.

He'd called a taxi already, and after grunting some sort of a good morning to each other, we were off to start working through our list of possible suspects. We'd gotten lucky on this one though, because the first black-market dealer on our list happened to sell out of one of the more disreputable sections of Garrula, using the tourist trade to hide his own under-the-table dealings. Not having to jump planets quite yet would save us time in the long run, and besides, I wanted a chance to make sure certain items were out of sight before letting a Coalition agent (even one that I actually trusted) anywhere near my ship.

The cabby dropped us off a few blocks from the address we had for the dealer – the streets back here weren't exactly designed for anything wider than a moto-scooter – and I took a minute to glance over at Sam.

"Missing your suit and tie?"

He shot a wry grin my direction.

"Just a little. You get used to wearing it, you know?"

A quick smile flitted across my face, because I was pretty sure I'd always feel strangled in a tie, but then again, he'd been doing this for years.

"Whatever you say. Just remember – back there you're not an agent, and you follow my lead. You're just there to listen in on this guy's thoughts and make sure he's telling the truth. Let me do all the talking."

He nodded, and I could see him actively try to get into his part – slouching a little, and running his fingers through his hair a few times to muss it up a bit. And I was suddenly really grateful Sam had turned out to be a decent guy, because most of the Coalition agents I'd run into over the years wouldn't have been able to tone down the authoritative, better-than-you shit to save their lives.

But Sam wasn't like that - it was pretty clear that he actually cared about helping people, even if he occasionally did come across a little pompous. In some ways, he really was a better person than I was… Yeah, not going there.

The alleyway we were headed down was definitely not on the list of spots for tourists to visit. Cracked pavement, pock-marked brick walls, the smell of something (or several somethings) rotting nearby - not appealing in the least. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam wrinkling his nose at the smell, and picking his way carefully around a puddle of some unidentifiable substance on the ground.

And then I'm not sure what happened. One minute I was trying to put together a plan for how best to pump the dealer for info, and the next I was reeling sideways, no longer able to see the alleyway. For a second, I was a kid again, running down the corridors of a Trader ship, laughing, turning back to someone behind me, to my brother, calling out.

"Come on, Sammy - try and catch me!"

The memory, if that's what it was, disappeared in a flash of light, and then I was back in the alley, head pounding and heart racing, slumped against a grimy wall. And Sam was right there next to me, looking about as shell-shocked as I felt.

"Dean… What the hell was that?!"

I shook my head, not quite able to speak yet. It was a memory, I was sure of that now, but it made no sense. The other little kid I'd seen - that was my brother. But I didn't have a brother, had never had a brother, so why was I remembering someone who'd never existed? It felt so real, though, more real than all my other memories of childhood, more vivid than everything else I remembered before age twenty. And I had no idea what that meant.

"Dean - look at me. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Sammy, it was nothing, quit bugging me."

Shit. I'd called him Sammy again. I didn't think he'd noticed though - he was too busy staring at me with a mixture of worry and confusion.

"You're not, though."

He'd lost me.

"Huh?"

"Not fine. And don't try to lie – it won't work."

I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, so it took me a second to process what he'd said, but when I got to the obvious conclusion, I was pissed.

"You promised you'd stay out of my head! That was the deal! You can't just go looking whenever…"

"Dean. I didn't. I swear. I'm not in your head. But what you just saw… I saw it too. It was like you were screaming it at me, so loudly that I couldn't block it out. So whatever that was, it wasn't nothing."

He still looked really worried, and more than a little freaked out, and I suddenly realized that this was probably just as weird for him as it was for me. I guess I really wasn't helping things any by yelling at him for something he couldn't help.

"Oh. Um."

Master of vocabulary – that's me. But Sam did relax a little, and I made a quick effort to put together a coherent sentence.

"Not sure what that was. It's never happened before, and with any luck, it won't happen again. And I'm sorry for flipping out at you. It's just…"

I stopped there, not sure what else to say.

"It's fine. You thought I'd gone back on my word. I get that."

With a quick smile, he dropped the subject, and moved away down the alley, tossing one last reassurance over his shoulder as he went.

"You can trust me, Dean. Always."

Oddly enough, I was sure he really meant that. And even more strangely, I _did_ trust him. Which was why I'd gotten so angry just a moment ago, because he really did have my trust, whether I liked it or not.

Now wasn't the time or place to dwell on that, though, so I shook it off and followed him, focusing back on the case and what I knew about the dealer we were meeting.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, this particular dealer had no useful information about the poison – apparently, it had been years since he'd dealt in that particular brand of death. So we were right back where we'd been that morning, the only difference being we were down to twenty-five names rather than twenty-six. At this rate, a war between Gordon Trade and the ISC would flare up and be over with before we had any answers. And to top it all off, I had unidentifiable substances from the alley wall smeared on my favorite jacket.<p>

Sam chuckled softly.

"I think the jacket's the least of your worries…"

He was in my head again. This had to stop.

"I can't help it, Dean. Whatever happened back there, it's like there's a connection between us now. And it's not like anything I've ever experienced. I can't turn it off, Dean… I'm really sorry but I can't…"

I stopped.

"So you're telling me that you're hearing every single one of my thoughts now, and there's nothing you can do about it?"

He gave me a slight nod, and was about to say something when another one of those memory barrages sent me staggering.

This time was different – the fear flooding through me was intense, and I was screaming, fighting the arms holding me, struggling with all my might to hold onto someone… to hang onto Sammy. But they had him, soldiers in Coalition uniform, so much bigger and stronger than me, ripping him away, tearing his hand from my grasp, taking him from me as he screamed my name. And I was crying, screaming for him, kicking at the men keeping me from my brother…

"Sammy! Sammy! No!..."

The memory faded into blackness, and I was back in the present, on my knees on the pavement, tears streaming down my face. And Sam was there in front of me, crouched down, his hand gripping my shoulder.

"Dean…"

With an effort, I slowed my breathing and stemmed my tears, reaching up a shaking hand to wipe them from my cheeks. Sam waited patiently until I had my emotions back under control, then continued.

"Dean, I need to know – are these _your_ memories?"

That was not at all what I had expected to be asked. And ten minutes ago, I would have said that I wasn't sure, but now, there was no question in my mind.

"Yes. I don't know how they could be, but they are."

He sat back on his heels then, looking visibly shaken.

"What's up?"

"The kid you keep seeing… your little brother… Sammy… I think he might be me."

Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that.

When my brain refused to come up with anything coherent to say for several long seconds, he went on.

"That last memory – at first, I saw it through your eyes, felt what you felt. But then… then, I was the little boy the soldiers took, and I could hear your screams, see your tears, and I wanted nothing more than to run to you. It was the most intense and most real thing I've ever felt, even though I've never remembered it before now."

His earnest words finally broke through my shock, and although it was hard to believe, it was also hard to deny, now it was happening to both of us. But even though it was clear that there was a long conversation here that we needed to have, involving a lot of "how" and "why" and "what the hell?", we also needed to get out of this sketchy part of town before some unsavory character decided we looked like good targets for a robbery. So, leaning heavily on Sam, I managed to climb to my feet, mumbling something about talking about this back at the motel. He seemed to see the wisdom in that decision, because he didn't say anything more, just flagged down a passing cab and gave the driver the address.


	4. Chapter 4

On the ride back, I tried my best to calm my thoughts and organize my mind, because I could tell that being privy to all my incoherent, tangled thoughts was wearing on Sam. Every time I started to mentally flip out, his hand would reach up to rub at his temples, and I could almost physically feel his pain at the barrage of emotions and thoughts that he'd previously been able to block out.

By the time we got back to the motel, we were both worn out, but this conversation needed to happen anyway.

I collapsed onto the bed as soon as the room door swung shut behind us, absently rubbing at my knee – there was a nice bruise forming there from slamming it into the pavement earlier. Sam paused to shove the security bolt on the door into its slot, then sank slowly down into the shabby chair across from me.

Both of us stared at our hands for a little while, and eventually, I summoned up the nerve to say something.

"Do you think this is real, what we're remembering?"

He nodded, and although he didn't look up, his voice was steady as he responded.

"It's real. I just can't believe it took me this long to figure it out."

Okay, what the hell did he mean by that? My look of consternation must have shown on my face… Oh. Wait. He could read my mind… Anyway, he went on to answer my unasked question without any hesitation.

"They wiped our memories, Dean. Or, more properly, they altered them. That's one of the Coalition's most closely guarded secrets, even among agents – that a telepath can do more than just read minds. They would have needed a strong telepath to make it work though, someone with much more training than I've ever received."

I started to interrupt him, because even though I believed what he was saying, there was still no way to prove that it had happened to us…

"That's a great theory, but…"

"It leaves marks, Dean, if you know what to look for. They're hard to see, which is why I missed them when I first read you, and then you asked me to stay out, so I wasn't looking anymore. But now… they're there – faint traces of where someone altered your childhood memories."

He had finally brought his gaze up to meet mine, and I could feel how badly he wanted me to believe him.

"Okay. But what about you? If you're my brother, you're a Trader, and that means you don't age like humans do. Even if they did wipe your memories of being a kid, don't you think you would have noticed when everyone else got old and you didn't?"

His gaze darkened at that, but I knew he wasn't angry at me, but with the people who'd played around in our minds.

"You know how I said your mind has faint traces of tampering? That's not true of mine. They train us never to look inside our own minds, tell us we could go insane if we do; now I know why. It's a mess up there – alteration after alteration, like giant scars in my memory, not just of my childhood, but everywhere."

I could see how hurt he was by what the people he'd trusted had done to him, by the realization that he had been lied to and manipulated all these years. And, call it brotherly instincts, I guess, I wanted nothing more than to trap those agents in a room and beat the shit out of them for what they'd done.

He shook his head slightly at that, and I remembered too late that my head wasn't my own anymore. This time, though, I was okay with that - knowing he was my brother, knowing how he'd been duped and used, that changed everything.

There was a long silence then, because what do you say to your long-lost brother? Sorry you had your memories wiped, want to play some vid-games?

The uneasy quiet was broken by the loud chirp of his comm, and we both jumped slightly at the sudden noise. He quickly shifted to grab the comm and check the incoming message. I knew it was trouble before he said anything, could sense the sudden increase in tension in the room as he scanned the text rolling across the screen, so I was half expecting the news he delivered.

"There's been another murder. Or at least another death, this one at Gordon Trade, so it's almost certain to be a retaliation by the ISC."

"Well, we knew it was coming…"

"Dean, they're sending in more agents to stop this before it becomes an all-out war. And one of them is the telepath who trained me."

Okay, that was a problem. Somehow, I didn't think the Coalition would take kindly to the fact that we'd figured out what they'd been doing to our memories. And with another telepath on the way, one who'd probably been so steeped in Coalition rhetoric that there'd be no chance of swaying him to our side, there was no chance of hiding what we knew. There was only one answer…

"We need to get out of here."

"You need to run."

We spoke on top of each other, and as what he'd said sank in, I was having none of it.

"I'm not leaving without you, Sam."

He shook his head vehemently in response.

"You have to. There's a chance that I can block out your part in this, that I can keep them from seeing that you remembered too. They'll just assume you ran after I went off mission, and they won't try too hard to catch you. Either way, you'll be far from here before they start looking for you."

"Not happening, Sam. Whatever happens, I'm not losing you again."

After a hundred years alone, there was no way I was ever going to let my brother go. I'd never really had family that I could remember, and finding out I had a brother, seeing even snatches of the memories we'd shared… Trust me, there was not a chance in hell that he could talk me into leaving him behind.

Apparently he could sense how strong my resolve was, since the determined look faded from his face, and he heaved a resigned sigh. Maybe this whole mind-reading thing could be good for something…

"Now that's settled, how much time do we have to disappear?"

He shrugged slightly.

"I'm not sure – it depends on where they're coming from. But no more than twenty-four hours, that's for certain, and probably closer to eight or ten."

I could tell he still wanted to convince me to run alone, that I could move faster that way, but he pursed his lips and kept whatever arguments he'd thought of to himself.

"We've got time then. Let's see… we'll need supplies, new ident-cards, some sort of falsified flight plan and shipping manifest to throw off anyone who tries to follow us…"

* * *

><p>Thanks to my network of less-than-exemplary citizens, it took us less than six hours to pull together all the necessities for disappearing. Our new ident-cards and ship's papers passed their first test with flying colors, and we shoved off from the Garrula spaceport without any trouble. According to the flight plan we'd filed, we were on the <em>Eagle's Flight<em>, heading toward the center of the galaxy to deliver a cargo of hand-crafted pottery to Empora.

In reality, my ship was now running under the name _Lucky Star_, and our real destination was Arcton, a moderately populated planet right on the edge of the Coalition's territory. I had old friends there, and if we were lucky, we could find a place to hole up for a while.

Unfortunately, whatever luck I'd had seemed to have run out right about the time I landed on Garrula.

We'd barely been on Arcton for three days when I woke up to see my face gracing the morning news broadcast, right alongside Sam's. Apparently we were now wanted men, with a bounty of two hundred million creds on our heads.

I started to make a wisecrack about being worth more than that, but Sam stopped me.

"It's not funny, Dean. We're not safe here. And you can bet your life that the Coalition has telepaths scouring Garrula right now, looking for anyone who might have given us help. Even if no one here calls in to claim the bounty, they'll still be coming for us. It's just a matter of time."

My brother, ever the optimist… But I couldn't deny that he was right. We had a few days, maybe a week at best, before there'd be Coalition agents hot on our trail again. And even if we ran again, there was no where to run to that wasn't just as dangerous. Unless…

"Sam – how sure are you that the stuff we're remembering is real? Because I think I know where we go next."

Over the last week, both of our memories had started slowly filling in the gaps, and the other night I'd been hit with a particularly long (and painful) set of flashes. But if they were really true, those bits of a past life might just save us now.

"Oh, it's real. I'm certain of that. But memories distort over time, Dean, so we can't be sure of anything…"

I nodded impatiently – he'd repeated that phrase a lot these last few days, and I understood, I really did, but when you have no other options, sometimes you reach for whatever you can find.

"Okay, but… think about what I saw a couple nights ago about the rebellion?"

"You said you remembered overhearing some adults talking about a brief uprising of Traders that was crushed by Coalition forces... But Dean, you were just a kid, and for all you know you heard wrong…"

I leaned forward, willing him to listen.

"But what if I didn't? What if there really was a rebellion, and the survivors really did strike out for some distant world beyond the reach of the Coalition?"

He just shook his head, still doubting, and I knew it would take more than just a vaguely recalled childhood memory to convince him.

"What if I can find someone else to corroborate the story?"

"What, you, the wanted fugitive, asking around to see if anyone's heard of a Trader uprising? Okay, fine – you get someone to corroborate, and I might believe it."

A grin spread across my face, because I had him now. That particular memory had been very vivid, and I'd called up Cas (without letting him know where I was) to ask about it.

"My Overseer told me the rebellion was real enough. And then he went through the records in the Traders' library, and found stories of a world colonized by Traders – no facts, just rumors, but do we have a better plan, Sam? 'Cause I feel like this is the best plan we've got."

And I could tell from the look on his face that he didn't have another answer, didn't have a better plan, because every other plan involved us running from planet to planet until the Coalition finally caught up to us and had us executed for knowing too much. I wasn't thrilled about striking out into the unknown following some unsubstantiated rumors, but it was better than dying at the hands of an agent.

Sure, if the rumors weren't true, we'd die eventually anyway, when we ran out of supplies, but even that would be better than being tortured and executed by the Coalition. And I was choosing to hold onto hope that my luck would change again soon, for the better.

After several moments of silence, during which I was sure he weighed all the possible options, Sam finally gave in.

And so, after three frantic days of trying to accumulate supplies and garner scraps of information about the possible location of this rumored Trader colony, we were finally on board the re-renamed _Traders Wild_. It seemed like a fitting name, given our circumstances, and Sam had even smiled slightly when he saw it.

As we left Arcton behind and headed toward the vastness of uncharted space, I felt a twinge of regret at the life I was leaving behind, but then again, it had always been a lonely life anyway. Now I knew why I'd never found my soulmate for all those years, because he'd been taken from me. But now, even on the run, I'd never be alone again. My brother – my One – was sitting in the copilot's chair that had been empty for so long, and even though I wasn't one for sappy statements, I had to admit – having him there felt right.

* * *

><p>It was the edge of the known universe, and we soared past it in a millisecond, headed for planets unknown, for civilizations that were only rumors. If we'd been in an old pirate story, the map would have said, "Here There Be Monsters" or some other friendly phrase.<p>

But that was okay with me, because nothing scared me anymore, nothing except losing the man next to me.

And I was never going to let that happen again.

Sure, I didn't know what would come our way next, but whatever it would be, we'd face it together, and come out on top. And as the stars streaked past in streams of light, as I glanced over at Sam - at _my brother_ - I knew there was nowhere else in the whole universe that I would rather be.

We would make our own memories, together, for a thousand years to come.


End file.
